Covering All Bases
by Thalius
Summary: Miranda goes to far lengths to ensure that her and the Commander have a private space to meet before heading into the Omega-4 Relay. Rated M.


**AN:** I was sorting through the insane amount of docs I have accumulated on my PC and found this piece lying around. Wrote it about a year or two ago and never got around to posting it. So, here's some more smut to add to my growing collection. Enjoy!

* * *

"You've sealed the doors?"

"Yes, Miss Lawson; they will only open and close for Shepard and yourself. In case of emergency, however, they will automatically open for your safety unless otherwise needed."

"And the windows in the engine room?"

"Tinted for privacy per your instruction."

"The engineering staff has been allocated elsewhere?" It was really only Tali at this point, but she want to cover all the bases.

"Engineer Tali'Zorah has been given permission to be off-duty and has been urged by Doctor Solus to relax for mental and physical preparation for the Omega-4 Relay. As well, Jack has been given access to the bar in the lounge and there is only a two point seven-four percent chance of her attempting to retire to her regular quarters."

"Good," she said, mostly to herself. She could finally relax a little. "And where is the Commander?"

"Sending an email to Councillor Anderson in the CIC. Do you wish to know the contents of the email?"

"No, no, it's none of my business. Thank you, EDI."

"You are welcome, Operative Lawson."

Frowning at the idea of thanking an unshackled AI, she headed to the fourth deck's elevator. Engineering was officially hers, with no one around to interrupt or hear anything. Her heart sped up at the thought. Things would probably get a little loud. A lot loud, if she had her way. Not that Shepard would complain.

 _Or would he? Does he like that sort of thing, I wonder? Maybe I should ask him._ She frowned. And maybe not. People weren't usually very receptive to blunt personal questions. Not that she was any different, but still—

"People don't lock up whole sections of a ship unless they're hiding something."

She whirled in place, heart in her throat, and saw Zaeed leaning against the doorframe that lead to his room.

"I… didn't know you were still down here," she said slowly, trying to look casual. "You said you were going to play poker in the lounge."

"I know I did," he replied evenly. "So what's in the engine room?"

"Nothing is." _Technically_ not a lie.

"All right. What's _going_ to be in the engine room?"

"I don't think that's your concern," she said evasively. She put on her best scary face, although it had a low chance of fazing the mercenary.

"We're gonna die in a few hours," he said in his gravelly voice. "What's so goddamn awful that you can't tell an old fuck like me?"

Her lips pursed, contemplating her answer. _Oh, what the hell._ "It's—I was going to spend some… time with the Comman—"

He burst into wheezy laughter, almost doubling over in the doorframe. She felt her eyes narrow and tried her hardest not to blush.

When he continued in such a fashion for another minute, she rubbed at her brow. "I fail to see what's so funny."

"That's hardly a secret, princess!" he barked, trying—and failing—to stifle his laughter. "You two have been dancing around each other for a fucking month now, maybe even more. Shepard's balls are probably too blue to function with all the time you've waited."

Her face betrayed her and flushed painfully. "That's—"

"None of my business, I know," he interrupted. "But on a ship this small you two fucking is everyone's business. Scuttlebutt, Shepard calls it."

"Just—ugh," she sighed. "Keep this to yourself, understood?"

"Why? It's fucking funny."

"Do you always have to be so vulgar?"

"You always gotta be so _fucking_ snooty?"

"I mean it, Massani."

"What's in it for me, then?" he asked, suddenly looking far more interested. "Silence isn't cheap, lady."

"What could you possibly want? The Illusive Man's already paid you; you'll never have to work again in your life."

"Easy to say when this'll probably be my last job." Grey brows drew together, and his homely face scrunched in thought. "How about showing me your tits?"

"No."

"Prude," he muttered after a moment of silence. "Fine. How about a set of keys to your apartment?"

"My what?"

"You got one on the Presidium, right?"

"Yes."

"I want it."

"Fine."

His brows raised. "Well that was fucking easy."

She shrugged. "I have more than one apartment, and enough money to buy another. But—why mine?"

"It has a good view and defends well."

She glared at him. "How do you know that?"

"I know everything, princess," he said, shoving away from the doorframe. "Alright, your secret's safe with me. Have a nice shag for me; the Commander deserves it."

"I…." He brushed past her, stabbing a button on the lift controls.

"See you in hell," he muttered, wheezing to himself again. Deck Four became very quiet when the door shut, and Miranda shook her head, smiling.

"Way to set the mood," she said to the empty deck. Mentally calculating how long it would take Zaeed to get to Deck Three, she pressed the button to call the lift in one-point-three minutes and thumbed the key for the CIC.

 _Here goes nothing._

* * *

He tabbed the backspace key yet another time, glaring at the screen in front of him. All he wanted to do was send Anderson a simple message about where they were headed, and more importantly, order his old friend to deny any involvement with him to his mother should he not return from the mission. Shepard could only imagine what his death two years prior had done to her; he didn't want her to know he was alive if he was turning around and walking into hell again.

She'd emailed him near the start of the whole mission, demanding to know if he was alive or not, but he'd never answered. He wanted to, but thought it cruel to make a connection only to sever it soon after. If he survived this, he'd visit her, and try to make up for lost time, but until then he wanted silence from all parties involved. Which, at present, he was at a loss as to how he'd make that happen.

 _Fuck. Maybe I have to send another one to Hackett, too. Mom's in the running to become an admiral soon. He might have even contacted her already._

He ran a hand through his hair, wondering idly if he should cut it. He usually kept it buzzed, but ever since waking up he'd let it grow out and was reluctant to see yet another change to his person, even if it was a familiar one.

He looked over absent-mindedly to where Kelly usually stood, almost forgetting she wasn't there. Some advice on the subject of family relationships would be most welcome from a therapist right about now. _Yet another reason to get the crew back. Need them more than I thought I did._

Fed up, he closed his email and turned on his heel, deciding that he'd check his gear again and give it another thorough cleaning. Maybe that would help clear his head or give him some inspiration for writing.

The lift opened just as he turned, revealing Miranda. A grin spread on his face of its own accord, and she quickly returned the smile. "Hey, Miranda."

"Commander," she responded, but her tone stopped him. He thought picked up on an odd note of… playfulness?

She headed straight for him, and he swore she put an extra sway in her hips. His gaze dipped below eye level before she reached him, sliding a gloved hand up his chest.

"What are you up to?" she asked in a low voice, standing very close to him.

"I was, uh, going to clean my gear," he said thickly, noticing how warm her hands were, even through her suit.

She hummed. "How about we take a trip downstairs instead?" She leaned closer, letting him enjoy the faint scent of her perfume. She always seemed to wear the right amount. "I've cleared the engine room."

His mouth opened but no sound came out. "There's—" He cleared his throat. "There's a bed in the captain's quarters."

"Your room's not sound-proof," she whispered into his ear, and he felt his blood fly south. "Be there in five minutes. I'll be waiting."

He watched in stunned silence as she sauntered back over to the lift, turning gracefully on her heel and winking at him before the elevator doors shut closed again.

 _Oh my god..._

He hurried over to the lift and pressed the call button, feeling his heart rate significantly speed up as he waited. He knew they'd get to this point eventually, but it had slipped his mind after the crew had been taken. Now it pulsed at the forefront of his brain, and he quickly stepped into the lift on shaking legs when the doors slid open.

Five minutes, she said? He had to wait five minutes? What the hell would he do for _five minutes?_

Thinking quickly, he ordered the elevator up to his cabin and headed straight to his private bathroom, trying not to run. Once inside, he opened the small medicine cabinet and grabbed his toothbrush. He began scrubbing furiously at his teeth, already regretting the MRE fettuccini pasta he'd had for lunch earlier on.

Passing the brush over every tooth twice and then rinsing with mouthwash to make sure, he splashed cold water on his face and dried off with a hand towel. Closing the cabinet, he stared at himself in the mirror, frowning at what looked back at him.

He ran a hand over his jaw. _Should've shaved this morning, dammit._ And actually _slept_ instead of doing reports half the night. His eyes had faint, blue circles under them, making his face look sunken in. That, and his scars still hadn't fully healed—they shone when the light was on them at the right angle, an angry red-orange tinge.

Shrugging off the state of his face, he tugged his shirt down, straightening his crewmen outfit. He'd disregarded the Cerberus uniform and stuck to a simple white long-sleeve shoved up unceremoniously at the elbows, and adopted simple crewmen pants. Nothing so flashy as what Miranda wore, but they were functional and comfortable. Frowning, he flexed in the mirror, and was at least satisfied with the resulting constriction of his arms and chest. The implants might make his scars glow and his bones heavy, but they also added a decent amount of muscle mass. He supposed it was a fair trade off. That, and they kept him alive.

He felt something akin to panic slowly rising in his chest the longer he studied himself. Shepard generally didn't spend more than five minutes on personal grooming in the morning, but now wished he had. _No time for a shower and shave now._

He wished Miranda had given him some advance notice on the matter, but then all he'd be doing all day would be… well, nothing. He was having a difficult enough time focusing _now,_ let alone going an entire day thinking about Miranda.

He swiped another hand through his hair, deemed himself half-respectable, and headed back to the elevator. He hoped she could forgive any shagginess on his part, although there wasn't much he could do about it at this point. He took some solace in the fact that she still found him attractive after seeing him as a torched zombie, which calmed him a little.

Pressing the button for Deck Four with an unsteady hand, he mentally prepared himself for what was about to happen. He hadn't had sex in… four years, and that wasn't counting the two he'd spent dead. And the last time he'd had anything resembling a steady relationship had been even longer. _And,_ Miranda was the hottest woman he'd ever been with. Hell, the hottest woman he'd ever _dreamed_ about being with. If he lasted two minutes, he'd throw himself a party.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on something else other than sex.

 _Here goes nothing._

* * *

She felt the thrum of the drive core beneath her palms as she grasped the railing of the walkway, trying not to tap her foot in impatience. _Where is he?_

It'd been six and a half minutes, by her count, and he still wasn't here. Huffing, she pushed away from the railing and gave herself a passing glance in the polished steel of the engine room's walls. Frowning at the fuzziness of her hair, undoubtedly caused by the eezo core, she flipped her hair over her head and ran her fingers through it, then flipped it back and smoothed it down over her head and inspected herself again.

"Maybe the captain's quarters was a better idea," she murmured, glaring at her still-fuzzy hair. She sighed, adjusting the belt on her hips and tugging on the lapel of her suit, hoping Shepard wouldn't notice her less-than-pristine appearance.

She glared at her boots in order to pass time, and eventually found herself studying the grated flooring she stood on. _Hmm. Not very comfortable._ She slid a boot over the surface and felt a slight resistance. _Definitely keeping Shepard on the bottom._

The thought seemed to drive the point home that she was finally going to sleep with the man. True to both their words, they'd kept the mission first and stayed—mostly—professional. Their physical interactions had gotten about as far as a few steamy kisses and some groping before some problem or another pulled them away. But now she'd planned it all out, and there were to be no interruptions or emergencies.

She'd gone through engine checks, system scans, weapon calibrations, duct and vent maintenance reports—everything and everyone on board the Normandy scored a big green check mark on file, and she hoped it'd stay that way for at least a few hours. She intended have a lot more than one session with the Commander.

Which was probably a good thing. She wasn't in possession of all her faculties when it came to sex, or at least right now. She hadn't had intercourse in three years and eight months, mainly due to missions and then, eventually, Project Lazarus. Which hadn't entirely bothered her; her goals and usefulness in the organisation gave her purpose far more complex than anything carnal, but… it _was_ a long time and Shepard _was_ very handsome. And tall. And warm. And funny. And—

She heard the door open behind and to her left and suddenly straightened, letting her hands fall to her sides as she waited for him. _Wait, no, I can't just stand here like a robot. That's off-putting._ She turned around and looked at the drive core again, feigning a distracted air as she heard soft footsteps behind her.

"Miranda," she heard over the hum of the engine, and turned around once again. Her heart sped up at the sight of him.

"Shepard," she replied too neutrally, then cleared her throat. "I… how are you feeling?" _Oh god, what kind of question is that?_

He didn't seem to notice the absurdity. "Alright," he said in a strained voice, stepping closer to her. His palm slid into hers, and she idly noted how warm he was.

"That's good," she said slowly, looking up at him. She saw fear reflecting back at her in his eyes, and relaxed a little when she realised he was as nervous as she was. "But you're lying."

He chuckled anxiously. "Fine. I'm terrified."

"Of?"

"Screwing this up," he said quietly, looking down at their hands. "I haven't exactly done this lately."

"I think I can excuse abstinence on the grounds of being spaced," she said in amusement.

"Even before that. Military life is hard in more than one way," he muttered, and she couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. The sound seemed to calm him; she watched his shoulders relax from their tensed position.

"Well, then you'll be pleased to know I haven't either," she said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone.

"Really?" He probably didn't mean to sound offensive, but the surprised tone annoyed her.

"Don't sound so shocked," she said testily, frowning at him. "Working for Cerberus has its… drawbacks, as well."

"I didn't me—" She cut him off with her mouth, her patience finally snapping. He immediately responded by raising his arms to encircle her waist, and she heard him breathe deeply through his nose.

When breathing became an issue, she pulled away. "Not bad for a hard-knock military life," she said breathlessly. He smiled dazedly at her.

"Not bad for an ice queen," he murmured back, dipping down to kiss her again. She threw her arms around his neck and felt his hands slide down to grab her ass. She laughed against his mouth and then felt him hoist her up in his grip, and she happily wrapped her legs around his hips.

Her back came into contact with the console and he set her down on the surface, using it as leverage to pull their lower bodies closer. She pressed into his pelvis, already feeling him stiff in his pants. He exhaled loudly when she rubbed into him and moved to kiss her throat. She arched her neck to give him better access, taking the opportunity to nip at his ear.

His mouth met the small choker on her neck and she felt his teeth gently scrape her skin, pulling on the fabric. It easily fell away and fluttered to the grated flooring, already forgotten. The tip of his tongue brushed her neck and she let out a sharp gasp at the contact. Her hand slipped between them and began undoing the top button of her suit, her other hand pulling his face back up to hers for another long kiss.

One of his hands slid from her waist to her thigh, and he began a slow massage with his fingers against the inside of her leg. She felt the muscles of her thighs tense and contract at the contact, making her silently curse the suit she was still wearing. The hardness and heat of his body was easily felt through the thin material, but touch was a maddeningly muted sensation.

Miranda successfully undid the first few buttons of her suit, allowing the cool air of the engine room to brush her skin. Shepard noticed the movement and ran his other hand up her waist and tentatively cupped her breast. He moaned at the contact and when he heard a similar sound of approval from her, he continued his ministrations in earnest.

She pulled his head closer and drove their mouths harder together, feeling his tongue brush hers and their teeth occasionally click together. His hands continued on both her breast and thigh, but his body suddenly seized and froze when she ground her hips into his.

He pulled away from her mouth, looking pleasantly dazed. She met his eyes for a moment before he looked down at her partially exposed upper body, and with an urgent grip he peeled off more of the soft fabric. Miranda reluctantly removed her arms from around his neck to allow him to shed her gloves and suit, letting it pool around her waist and leaving only her bra.

Shepard ducked his head to kiss her again, reaching a hand behind her to undo the clasp. He struggled for a moment, his fingers seeking for the clasp in vain.

"What—"

"It unhooks at the front," she murmured against his mouth, and felt rather than heard him laugh. Her skin flared with goosebumps when he moved away to inspect her bra, and she hurriedly unclasped the hook and pulled him back, shrugging off the piece of clothing and hearing it fall softly to the floor.

He resisted her pull for a moment, and she frowned at him before seeing his head dip lower and take the tip of her breast into his mouth. She arched her back involuntarily, clutching his head and pressing her hips as close to his as was possible. She could feel him straining uncomfortably against the fabric his crewmen pants, but was enjoying the feeling of being warm and close with him far too much to move.

The immediate, combined sensations highlighted how long it'd really been. She could already feel her body tightening near-painfully with the lack of stimulation, and rubbing into him only made it worse. However Shepard seemed to be in a similar state; his movements were tense and clumsy, as if he were restraining a great pressure.

When he bit down lightly on her nipple, she had reached her breaking point and shoved him away. The force had been greater than she'd intended, and he stumbled back and looked at her questioningly.

"Miranda?" he said breathlessly, reaching a tentative hand towards her. "Did I... do something wrong?"

She hopped off the console, breathing just as harshly. "No, no..." She pulled on his hand and they collided gently together. "No, I just... can't wait any longer. We have too many clothes on."

He chuckled into her hair, pulling her closer. "Easily fixable." His hands found the fabric bunched at her waist and tugged down insistently, resuming their joining at the lips. She unclipped her belt with a quick hand and let him push her suit past her hips. Meanwhile she fumbled at his own belt, tearing apart the buckle and pushing his crewman pants down. He flinched when the material rubbed over his erection, and with a bold grip she ran her fingers over him, still constrained by his underwear.

It was his turn to react violently; he dragged them both to the floor and pinned her to the grated ground, pulling off her suit with a savage need. Cool air teased her skin, and she helped with the last few resistant inches by kicking off her boots. She pushed the suit away with an idle foot and curled her leg up by his waist, arching into him. He pressed back down with a harsh thrust, clearly uncomfortable with his state of dress.

Her toe tugged on the hem of his shorts while she continued their almost painful kissing, the only part of their bodies completely unburdened by clothing. With another agonising minute they successfully got his pants off, followed swiftly by his boots and boxers.

He lifted away for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he fully rose off of her and sat back on his heels, looking down at her nude form spread on the floor. She watched his eyes travel over her body, and she returned the ogling in kind.

"Holy god..."

She noticed dimly that he still had his shirt on, but refrained from complaining when he suddenly pulled her hips upwards and rested her ass on his thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist and felt the straining tip of his member just barely pressing against her, and met his eyes.

There was an unspoken question burning in his gaze, one she gave an equally silent and enthusiastic response to. With that he bowed back over her body and pressed into her with a rapid stroke, and both of them cried out.

"Miranda…." he murmured, his whole body quivering above her. She rolled her hips and he replied with a thrust of his own, setting in motion a clumsy, passionate pace, one that made her forget about keeping Shepard under her during their encounter.

She gripped his shoulders, hard enough to pierce the skin, and moved against him as they pressed together on the floor. The rough fabric of his shirt teased her chest as he flexed and rolled into her, a look of strained concentration on his face as he moved.

It was so much more immediate than she'd expected, so much more overwhelming—something she knew the both of them felt. Passion and hunger made them claw and writhe into each other with graceless movements, but something simmered under the surface, something entirely non-physical and a slow burn that she'd felt whenever he was in the same room with her. She felt it especially when he paused momentarily to look at her, giving her a tight smile and brushing sweaty hair out of her face with a gentle hand before resuming his pace as he watched her react and cry out with each thrust.

Neither of them lasted very long—about a minute and sixteen seconds, by her rough count—but she somehow felt it appropriate. She relished how explosive the joining was, relished the fire that burned in her belly and thighs, unbearable as they were. Her legs and body began to shake of their own accord as they both reached the last few thrusts, and when Shepard moaned and curled into her, breathing harshly into her ear, she felt herself contract rapidly around him with enough force to make her buck in his arms.

* * *

A small eternity passed as she listened to the drive core pulse, which eventually sounded in time with her heart as her body came down from its white-hot high. Although it was cold in the engine room, Shepard gave off enough heat resting on top of her to envelope them both in a sweaty heat. She traced idle circles on his back as the contractions of her inner thighs slowed and relaxed, bringing forth the occasional twitch from John as they settled. Aside from the grate pushing against her skin, Miranda didn't think she'd ever felt more comfortable.

She felt Shepard kiss her collarbone as he shifted his head, and rose up to rest on his forearms. His eyes were still bright with excitement, only dulled by heavy eyelids and a lax expression.

He gave her a silly grin, opening his mouth to speak before pausing.

"What is it?" she asked, bringing up a hand to wipe at a bead of sweat on his temple.

"Just that I don't think I've ever had sex in an engine room before," he said quietly, looking pleased with himself.

Miranda grinned back. "And how was the overall experience?"

"Pretty fucking wonderful," he said with a genuine force that made her laugh.

"Mmm," she hummed, resting her head on one of his extended forearms. "I'm glad."

"Are you comfortable?" he asked, looking down at the floor. "I can get a blanket or something."

The question gave her pause "No," she said languorously, after a moment. "I'm perfectly comfortable right here." It wasn't a particularly significant question, at least not by itself, but she realised that no one had ever asked her that before in her life.

He smiled. "Good. I don't really want to move right now." He settled back against her as she laughed quietly, a moment of silence falling between them.

Her fingers reached up to play with the short bristles of his hair, another thing that gave her pause. Tender feelings during sex, considerate questions post-deed, and now a rather strong desire to be affectionate? She wondered with a rising panic if she'd suddenly burst into a passionate declaration of love the next time she reached orgasm.

"Wait," Shepard said with widened eyes, as if realising something. She was grateful for the distraction. "Where's Jack and Tali? Or Zaeed, or Grunt? Shouldn't they all be down here?"

"I cleared engineering. Well, all of Deck Four, really. I didn't want any interruptions. The doors have been sealed and the windows in Mordin's office have been tinted." She met his eyes with a small smile. "For once we have a whole deck to ourselves, and that should last for a few hours, at least."

He gave her a look of considerable admiration. "You thought of everything."

"I only settle for the best, Shepard," she murmured.


End file.
